


Naked

by melissaeverdeen13



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-30 01:29:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12643371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melissaeverdeen13/pseuds/melissaeverdeen13
Summary: Jackson and April play around with makeup.





	Naked

“Babe,” Jackson says from behind me. “Why do you need all this?” 

I look over my shoulder. “I don’t,” I say. “That’s why I’m reorganizing. To see what I can get rid of.” 

Surrounding me on my bedroom floor are makeup palettes. Palettes on palettes on palettes. I’ve accrued them over the years, starting out in early college when I got the hang of makeup, and since then I’ve become somewhat of a connoisseur. But as I keep buying more, I’m running out of space to put them. So, that means the old ones have to go. 

“Not what I meant,” he says, shifting. “I mean, you’re already pretty without all this.” 

“You’re a charmer, aren’t you?” I giggle. “It’s art, babe.” 

“Whatever makes you happy,” he says, and I feel his eyes on me. 

I gasp when I come across a pack of three Naked eyeshadow palettes that I never opened from Christmas. “I forgot about these!” I say, and set them off to the side. “I think you got those for me, actually. Did you?” 

He grunts. I laugh. 

“If I did, I was fueling your addiction.” 

“Oh, shush,” I say. “I’m not addicted. It makes me happy. At least it’s not crack.” 

“Crack might be less expensive.” 

I giggle to myself and continue sorting. I have way more than I thought I did. I don’t necessarily want to give them up, but I’m not a hoarder. I’ll only keep the ones I can use.

“Would your mom be interested in any of these?” I ask, but get no response. “Jackson.”

I look over my shoulder to find him asleep on his stomach, shirtless, his cheek resting on one flat hand. I smile to myself and shake my head a little, turning back to my work. He had a late night studying last night, so I have no doubt he’s tired. And makeup sorting isn’t exactly the most exciting thing in the world. 

I just like the feeling of him being here with me while I do it.

After a while, the drawers of my makeup organizer are empty and I have three piles in front of me: to keep, to give away, to test. The testers are what I can’t choose between, and if I like the colors enough, I’ll keep them.

So now, a new task presents itself. I swatch the colors on my non-dominant arm, studying how they show up outside of the box. I turn them this way and that in the light, and when I move onto the next palette, I realize I’ve run out of skin.

My eyes roam over to Jackson, lying vulnerable and open to use as a canvas. I bring my tester palettes with me to the bed, where I get comfortable beside him as I pop them open and get the brushes out. 

Mine and Jackson’s skin tone isn’t exactly the same, but I think I’ll like the way the colors look on him better. I know he won’t mind. He’s let me test swatches on the insides of his wrists while he’s awake, so his back won’t do any harm.

I open my ‘Heat’ palette and swipe the color ‘Scorched’ over his skin. It sparkles in the light, and I raise my eyebrows with delight. It’s beautiful. ‘En Fuego’ goes next, then ‘Ashes.’ All of them show up great against his caramel tone, and I end up sampling the whole row of colors in a line under his shoulder blades.

He doesn’t so much as stir as I work, gently smoothing the brush over his skin time and time again. I open a new palette, Naked3, and start on the other side with ‘Trick’ and ‘Liar.’ I smile at the way they show up, glittery and opaque, and know I have to keep this one, too. 

I go through four more palettes and fill up his whole back. He’s still deeply asleep, so I take a few pictures to show later, then spend a moment just looking at him in his serene state. I trail my fingernail down the dip in the middle of his back, tracing the slope of his spine, and his breathing changes a bit. 

“Are you waking up?” I whisper, nearing my face to his. 

He presses his lips together and blinks his eyes open a tiny bit. “Hey,” he says. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.” 

“It’s okay,” I say, eyes flitting to his back. I smirk to myself, knowing he’ll find out on his own. 

“Be right back,” he says, heaving himself off the bed. “Gotta pee.” 

I wait with a smile where I sit, hands folded in my lap. When I hear him call my name, my smile grows even wider. 

“April… what did you do to my back?” 

“Swatched,” I answer, and he appears back in the doorway. “I used you as my tester.” 

“Looks like you ran out of skin.” 

“I did,” I say. “But I took pictures for safekeeping.” 

He swivels around to try and look again, probably having caught sight of it in the bathroom mirror before. “I like the sparkly ones,” he says.

“Me, too,” I say. “I’m keeping them all.”

He laughs. “Of course you are. But can we get this off so I don’t stain your bed?” 

“So thoughtful,” I say, reaching to grab my makeup wipes. “Come here. Lay back down.” 

He obeys and gets comfortable, and I pull a few wipes from their container as I get comfortable straddling his hips. I sit on his butt and lean forward, carefully removing what I did. 

“It comes off easy,” I say, erasing the colors. I keep one hand braced on his side and my thighs clenched around him as I work.

“And I’m definitely not complaining about this position,” he says, chuckling. 

I tilt my hips forward, purposefully teasing him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say.

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re so innocent,” he says, and I squeeze my thighs in tighter. When I clear away the makeup from between his shoulder blades, I run my fingertips over the smooth skin and my lips come next. I press slow, soft kisses to the muscles along his spine, still cleaning with the wipe while I touch him. 

He groans softly, shifting beneath me.

“Feel good?” I ask. 

In the middle of his affirmative answer, I open my mouth and run my tongue along the length of his spine that I can reach. “Fuck, April,” Jackson murmurs. 

Without him being able to see, I strip off my shirt so I’m left in my leggings and bra. He realizes what I’ve done when I lean to overlap him again, smoothing my hands down the lengths of his arms that are spread out to either side of his body. 

“You’re killing me,” he says, and I press my lips to the back of his neck. 

I massage his back fluidly, digging my thumbs into the small of it and moving higher as I oscillate my hips. My rhythm is slow but defined in both my hands and my lower body, and I grow to enjoy the feeling of the friction between my legs. I know dry-humping is such a teenage thing to do, but no one’s here to judge me. I know it’s torturing him, and I don’t want to stop. 

He presses his face into the pillow and makes a strangled sound, and I move my hips more forcefully against him. I snap them forward and feel sparks in my belly, knowing if I keep going at this rate then I’m going to come in my pants. And I don’t think I want that to happen. 

Luckily, Jackson is on the same wavelength. With one quick movement, he flips onto his back and I’m sitting on his crotch instead of his butt, and the movement of my hips stills as he holds them between his hands.

“Were you just humping me?” he asks, eyes flashing. 

“Yeah,” I breathe, palms flat on his chest. “And I liked it. You did, too.” 

He bites his lower lip and his fingers crawl up my sides to the clasp of my bra, which he undoes quickly. Once my chest is bare, he covers my breasts with his hands and squeezes them together, which makes me moan and a wet heat pool between my thighs. I overlap his hands with my own and knead his fingers, rocking my hips all over again. 

I feel his erection underneath me, so I take my hands away from his and rub the heel of my palm against the bulge. He presses his lips together so hard they turn white and bucks upwards, which jolts me forward.

I giggle and lay flat against his chest, smiling with my nose touching his lips as I kiss his chin. He breaks his smile to kiss me on the nose, then gently bite the tip of it. 

“No teeth,” I say playfully, curving my back so I can reach his chest. I open my mouth over it, tasting the unique flavor of his skin before closing my lips around his nipple and sucking. 

His fingertips dig into my sides and his hips buck again. I smile against his beating heart and dig my teeth in a little, hearing a surprised gasp from him.

“No teeth,” he says, echoing my words from just moments ago.

“You like it,” I say, grazing the hardened point of his nipple. As I do, he skims his hands over my shoulders and holds my biceps for a moment, tighter when I suck on his skin so hard that a hickey stays behind.

I strip naked and he joins me, then I climb on top of him again. 

“You’re gonna…” he says, pupils extremely dilated.

“Can I try being on top?” I ask, sitting back and running my hands over his hip bones. 

“God, of course you can,” he says. “I just didn’t think you’d… I don’t know. You’ve never wanted to before.” 

“Well, I’m ready now,” I say. “I’m really turned on, and I wanna feel good.” 

He nods hungrily, pulling on my thighs to bring me closer. I position myself over his erection, holding it in my fingers to aim, then sink slowly down onto it. 

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” he moans, fingers digging into my ribs. “Hold on.” 

I take a moment to catch my breath, too, swiveling my hips just slightly to grow accustomed to this new angle. When Jackson’s eyes open again, I scoop my pelvis and grind against him, and he encourages me with two greedy hands on my ass. He urges me forward and my mouth drops open, lit up by this position I’ve never been brave enough to try. 

Jackson doesn’t take his eyes off me, not once. They’re trained on my face, my chest, the place where we’re joined, anywhere, all over my body. All of his attention is on me. If I knew he’d be this enraptured, maybe I would’ve tried being on top sooner. 

“You like this?” I breathe, fingernails scraping his chest. 

“Fuck yes,” he says, one hand sneaking up my body. He holds my jaw and and pushes his thumb between my lips, and I curl my tongue around it and suck hard. 

He moans, and my eyes flutter shut with his digit still in my mouth. He’s filling me completely, buried to the hilt, and I’m seeing sparks by this point. I squeeze my thighs together and he moves his hand away from my face to rub his wet thumb over my nipple, and my breathing doesn’t come easily anymore. 

“Mmm…” I moan, sounding a bit struggled. 

“You good?” he asks.

I take his wrist away from my chest and plant it between my legs. “Touch me,” I say. “I’m so close.” 

The thumb that had been in my mouth deftly presses against the nerves just inside me, and my face screws up with feeling. I shove my hips against his more forcefully, desperate to find that release, and that aggressiveness makes Jackson lose his breath.

I bury my face in his neck and he grips my ass again, helping me forward. I keep working, keep grinding, and he matches my speed and intensity. It doesn’t take much longer for my movements to stop all at once as I freeze on top of him, hands braced on his stomach, shoulders lurched forward with choppy breaths escaping as my orgasm ripples through me. 

When I return to my brain, I dismount Jackson knowing he hasn’t come yet and take him in my hand first. Following my hand comes my mouth, and it only takes two or three bobs of my head with the swirl of my tongue around the tip for him to shoot off hot into my throat. 

I wipe my chin when I sit back up, then we both smile breathlessly at each other. He extends his arms and I fall into them, one wrapped around my collarbones and the other being used to drag his fingertips down my arm to my wrist. 

He kisses the back of my head, shifting to spoon me. “I love you,” he says. 

I adjust so I’m on my back and can look him in the eyes. His are warm and soft, and I know my expression matches. 

“Baby,” I say, stroking his jaw. 

“Hmm,” he murmurs, face close to mine so he can drop errant kisses on my cheeks. 

“I love you, too.” 

We lie together for a while, not speaking. Just touching. But when I feel his lips on my neck, slow and sensual, he breaks the silence. 

“What was that makeup called?” he asks. “That you put on me.” 

I smile slightly. “Naked,” I say. 

“Do you think they do that on purpose? Do you think it gets people naked?” 

I laugh with a cheesy grin, pressing my chin to my chest. “No,” I say, hands all over him. “Just you.” 


End file.
